


The Alternative

by vipjuly



Series: Undisclosed Pleasures [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, Contractor Dean Winchester, Goth Castiel, M/M, Power Bottom Castiel, Recreational Drug Use, Snowballing, Tattooed Castiel, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-22
Updated: 2018-03-22
Packaged: 2019-04-06 14:49:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14059302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vipjuly/pseuds/vipjuly
Summary: Eyeliner & Tattoos is decidedly not the norm for a one night stand. But Castiel has his own gravitational pull and Dean is finding himself sucked into orbit, finding it all too easy to submit to Castiel's will.It's not a midlife crisis, it's a sexual awakening.





	The Alternative

**Author's Note:**

> Song: "The Alternative" - IAMX  
> i just couldn't resist.

Dean is not a morning person. He hates getting out of bed unless he can smell coffee brewing, and for that very reason he bought one of those fancy brewers that had a timer, set to six a.m. every Goddamn week day zzmorning to entice Dean out of the warm cocoon of covers. He hates the walk to the shower, wood floors chilly on his bare feet, and he hates waiting for the water to heat up. Until he’s showered and caffeinated there’s actually not much Dean can appreciate about mornings, but for some reason this morning as he’s coming out of his sleepy haze, he finds himself automatically in a good mood. He’s warm… he’s drowsy, and he feels… wet? His hands skate down his body without opening his eyes, fingertips meeting a tangle of thick hair at his pelvis. When his eyes shoot open a ceiling that isn’t his comes into focus and the sensation of a mouth on his cock has him letting out a hoarse, gravelly moan.

“Holy shit…”

He can’t see Castiel under the covers, but Dean can’t be bothered to look. Not when Castiel is trying to suck his sleepy brain out of the tip of his dick. Teeth scrape down his shaft lightly and Dean’s fingers tangle in Castiel’s long hair reflexively, the brief shock of pain curling his toes and curling arousal deep in his belly. He never thought he’d be one for pain, but being with Castiel is like a midlife awakening, desires that Dean didn’t even know he had coming to the surface. Like smooth, hairless skin, lean muscles, and tattoos. Castiel is much more leisurely this morning than he was last night and Dean appreciates the slow build to oblivion, his orgasm creeping up the base of his spine. When he comes Castiel swallows it all down with a content moan, tongue cleaning up Dean’s softening cock before he crawls his way up Dean’s body, the covers slithering off of his frame.

Oh, if Dean could wake up every morning to this, he’d think every morning was _beautiful_.

Because _Castiel_ is beautiful.

In the natural light of the sun cascading through the window, there’s an ethereal light about the man hovering above Dean. His eyes are clean of any makeup now, deep, dark blue and reminiscent of the lake that Dean loves to fish at. There’s some dark stubble on his jaw that blends down into the tattoos crawling up his neck and Dean allows himself to look at the man in wonder, his hands reaching up to card his fingers through Castiel’s hair.

“Are you an angel?” Dean’s voice croaks.

The sinister smile he gets in return makes his soft dick give an interested twitch. “Not quite.”

Castiel moves off of Dean and Dean sits up, running a hand over his face and glancing at the bedside clock. It’s just past eight, and when he opens his mouth to complain about it being the weekend, a wondrous aroma flits through his nostrils.

“... Is that bacon?”

Castiel is in the process of donning a fluffy red robe, tying the sash loosely around his waist. The smile he sends Dean is only a fraction softer, but something about the man is always… sharp. Razor sharp. “I made breakfast.”

“Shit, yeah,” Dean is spurred into action by the news, kicking off the covers and swiping his boxers up off of the floor. He dips into the bathroom to take care of business before he heads out into the main area, and now that it’s not dark and he’s not distracted, he can really soak it all in.

Castiel isn’t an angel.

He’s a fucking _demon_.

The soft goth design of his bedroom bleeds into oblivion in the main area. Everything is black, crimson, and dark purple; the furniture looks like it’s from the Victorian era, bookcases lined with hardbacks, and when Dean enters the kitchen he’s unsurprised to see black granite counters and dark stained wood cabinets. Even the appliances are black. Castiel is standing over an electric griddle on the counter next to the stove and Dean takes a seat at the table, looking around with muted awe. The artwork framed on the walls is abstract, the few statues littering pristine surfaces looking like mythical creatures, and Dean has to wonder what the hell he got himself into.

Castiel puts a plate on the table in front of Dean and when the man looks down, he decides that he’s gonna let Castiel do whatever sick things he wants with him. Bacon, breakfast sausage, hashbrowns and two fried eggs - Dean picks up his fork and pokes into one of the eggs, overly delighted to see the yellow of the yolk spill out slowly.

“Do you believe in love at first sight?” Dean asks, lifting his gaze up to Castiel, who is sliding into the seat across from Dean with a similar set up on his plate.

Picking up his fork, Castiel arches a brow, that wicked smirk still on his features. “All in the art of seduction, Dean. My ploy to keep you in my home seems to be working.”

“Fuck yeah, man,” Dean says, enthused as he takes a bite of bacon. “You feed me? You keep me.”

The silence they fall into as they eat is surprisingly not awkward. Dean hasn’t experienced many ‘morning afters’ in his forty years of existence, so he’s not really sure about the protocol on conversation. It’s clear Castiel is ready to marathon sex all day, which Dean is absolutely not opposed to, but as Dean glances around he can’t help but feel curious.

“What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a curator,” Castiel replies, mixing up his eggs into his hashbrowns.

“Like, for a museum?” Dean raises his brows.

Castiel sends him a sated smile. “Yes.”

Dean gives a slow nod, looking around the space again. The unit isn’t huge, but Castiel has decorated it in a way that keeps the dark colors from making it feel closed in. Coupled with all the curtains over every window drawn open to allow the sunlight in, Dean is surprised at how not overwhelmed he is. He’s personally a fan of big, open spaces, so his own condo is light and airy and even has skylights.

“Huh,” Dean nods, returning to his food. Castiel had brought a glass of water, which he’s thankful for, because his throat feels all sorts of raw and dry. He’s running his finger thoughtfully along the glass as he chews, and glances up as Castiel stands up from the table.

“You probably want coffee,” Castiel says, heading to the counter.

Dean chuckles, “Is it that obvious? Thought I was doin’ good at the whole ‘pretending to be fully awake’ thing.”

“You look like a man of hard labor,” Castiel says by way of explanation. “I’m sure in order to rally for work in the mornings you need a healthy fix of caffeine along with your food.”

Dean glances down at himself. He looks like a man of hard labor? Who even says that? His shoulders are broad and firm, his biceps not toned but large in comparison to someone who doesn’t do physical labor every day. In fact, he’s sort of built like a brick house, only the top two of his abs defined, the rest of his body not cut, but definitely thick.

“How do you take your coffee?”

“Black,” Dean replies, glancing up. He watches Castiel’s long fingers wrap around the coffee mug as he brings it from the counter to the table, sliding it in front of Dean noiselessly as he returns to his seat. “None for you?”

“I can’t consume coffee too frequently,” Castiel says, picking up his fork. Dean’s eyes won’t move from his Goddamn fingers.

“How do you wake up in the morning?” Dean drags his gaze away from the inky black on Castiel’s elegant knuckles.

Castiel nods to something over Dean’s shoulder, “With less jitters.”

Dean turns in his chair to see a pipe and a lighter on the kitchen counter and chuckles to himself. “Ah.” He’s surprised he couldn’t smell it; then again, there’s a spicy aroma in the air aside from breakfast, sort of like Castiel burns incense frequently.

“Does it bother you?” Castiel asks, pausing his fork halfway to his mouth, gauging Dean’s reaction.

“Nah,” Dean shakes his head and offers Castiel an easy smile. “I would if my job didn’t test us every six months.” His smile turns a bit roguish as he brings his coffee mug to his lips. “You worried about scaring me off?”

“If I didn’t scare you off already just by being me, I would be surprised if smoking weed was the catalyst,” Castiel says dryly.

Dean laughs. “You’re right. But you’re not so bad.”

“Charmed,” Castiel’s dry humor is refreshing. 

Hell, _Castiel_ is so far out of Dean’s orbit he’s surprised he even went home with the guy in the first place. But here he is, morning after, eating the man’s food, drinking his coffee, and making small talk. It’s so… easy. They clean their plates and Castiel whisks the dishes away, rinsing them and stacking them neatly in the dishwasher. Dean stands and stretches and grins when Castiel comes within reach, his hand moving to catch the man by his waist and draw him close. Castiel allows it and Dean is reminded again of a panther, naturally seductive and oozing sensuality.

“Are you full?” Castiel asks, his hands automatically resting on Dean’s pecs as the other man pulls him in. Their hips are flush, the soft fabric of Castiel’s robe tickling Dean’s skin slightly where it touches.

“In one way,” Dean murmurs. Food and coffee is always a good refractory booster, but Castiel only manages to get more and more attractive by the minute, even if Dean doesn’t typically stay around for seconds. Technically he’s ready for thirds. Castiel is a far cry from the twinks and the curvy girls that Dean usually goes for during a night out. And yet, when Castiel leans in to lick a wet stripe from collarbone to shoulder, Dean thinks that a change of pace is just what he needed.

“You taste exquisite,” Castiel murmurs, lips against the freckles on Dean’s shoulder as his hands slide down Dean’s chest to the band of his boxers. “I could have you for breakfast every day.”

Dean’s on board with that, his cock already half-hard just being in the vicinity of the siren in front of him, pressed against him, draping over him. Castiel’s arms rise to wrap around Dean’s neck, pressing their chests together, one of his knees slotting through Dean’s thighs, the robe parting and the sash loosening ever so slightly. A slow roll of Castiel’s body has every inch of skin pressing together that can, Dean letting out a slow breath as he allows his hands to part the front of Castiel’s robe, pushing the soft fabric slightly to make it slide down the length of Castiel’s shoulders. In proper lighting the tattoos are more brilliant than ever, the blackness of the ink endless as Dean’s feather-light fingers catch the sash and tug, the robe falling to the floor in a heap. Dean isn’t even sure he’s breathing at this point, things are so quiet between them, all of his senses laser-focused on Castiel. Pulling away slightly, Castiel’s palms skate over Dean’s chest again, thumbs flicking his nipples, before Castiel bodily turns around.

Automatically Dean’s arms go around Castiel’s waist as the man presses his back to Dean’s front, their slight height difference allowing Castiel to fit effortlessly into every groove of Dean’s body. Dean’s mouth dips to press open kisses across Castiel’s skin, teeth scraping over the knob of his spine, Castiel’s hands laying over Dean’s on his hips. They sway slowly to a silent beat, but Dean can almost hear the sinewy violin strings tremoring within Castiel’s body, thrumming under the surface of his skin in place of veins, his rushing blood the bow. 

“Dean,” Castiel’s voice is deep, the tendrils of it sliding into Dean’s ears and working their way through his brain. 

Dean responds by sliding his hands from Castiel’s hips around the front to his thighs, palms pressing into the flesh as they slide downwards. The tips of his fingers skirt either side of Castiel’s hard cock, dipping between the man’s strong thighs to tease at his sac. Dean’s breath puffs hot against Castiel’s skin, his eyes closed as he allows himself to get lost in the sensations. The gravitational pull Castiel has on Dean is… phenomenal. Dean can’t stop his hands from exploring, his lips from kissing, and Castiel moves against him fluid as water and deadly as fire, Dean’s body automatically following the small nuances. Castiel arches slightly, his ass pressing against Dean’s groin, the fabric of Dean’s boxers between them the thinnest of barriers. With strong, sure hands, Dean slowly moves Castiel towards the table and he leads the man to it, the edge of the wood pressed against the height of Castiel’s thigh; Dean pulls back slightly, his palm on the center of Castiel’s back guiding the man to bend over the table.

With a soft pant Castiel’s chest connects with the wood, Dean’s eyes drinking up the goosebumps that spring over the man’s skin in reaction with the cool surface. The dark haired man spreads his arms out to either side, long fingers curling around the edges of the table as he spreads his legs shoulder-width apart, the small of his back dipping, presenting his ass. Dean hadn’t even been aware that this is exactly as he wanted, his eyes following the gossamer wings on Castiel’s back down towards the cleft of his ass. In the darkness of the bedroom last night Dean hadn’t seen that the inky black tattoos curl around his buttocks, the only truly blank part of his body being the length of his cock and the line of his crack. The sight of it makes Dean’s mouth water. Castiel’s rim is still slightly puffy from last night’s activities and it puckers and loosens as Castiel rubs his chest over the table, writhing silently, cock hanging heavy.

“You’re fucking gorgeous,” Dean breathes, palms spreading over Castiel’s ass cheeks to spread them apart. He drops to his knees, fingers massaging the flesh, squishing the globes together and then pulling them apart, absorbing every twitch, every flutter, every moan. Leaning forward he swipes the flat of his tongue from Castiel’s heavy balls up towards his rim, pressing a sucking, wet kiss to his hole.

“Dean,” Castiel moans low. His toes crack when he flexes them against the floor.

Smirking to himself, Dean breathes hot over Castiel’s hole, before pursing his lips to blow cool. Castiel’s pucker tenses and quivers and Dean alternates the air flow a few more times until Castiel is _whining_ , sounding wrecked before Dean even can begin. He likes this. Last night Castiel had had complete power over him, and it’s nice to be in charge this morning, even if Dean has a sneaking suspicion that Castiel is _letting_ him be in control. That notion in itself makes Dean’s cock twitch.

Without further ado Dean finally presses his mouth fully against Castiel’s taint. The musky flavor explodes on his tongue and Dean moans at the taste, working his jaw, tongue, and lips in sweeping and probing motions. His hands are still holding Castiel’s ass cheeks apart, occasionally pressing them inwards to get them to squish Dean’s face a little, nearly drunk on the taste, the scent, the _feel_. Dean eats Castiel out like he’s never eaten anyone out before. He briefly revisits the idea of Castiel being an incubus and wonders if this is what it’s like to be under a spell. No matter the reason, Dean is ensnared, and Castiel squirming because of _him_ is reason enough to get drunk on lust. 

Reaching between Castiel’s legs, Dean’s fingers wrap around the man’s cock, stroking it in an unhurried pace. That seems to drive Castiel wild, his knees bending slightly, hips bucking, and Dean pulls back a few inches so he can catch his breath and swallow all of the saliva that’s been gathering in his mouth. Castiel’s ass is spit-shiny and red where Dean’s stubble has been scraping along his skin, and once again Dean is struck with how much he fucking _loves_ that Castiel is completely hairless. A glance up shows that even Castiel’s underarms are free of hair. Groaning slightly, Dean palms his own erection through his boxers with his free hands, still stroking Castiel at leisure.

“Dean, Dean,” Castiel mewls softly, breathlessly, his cheek pressed against the table.

Standing up, Dean removes his hands from Castiel’s body only to wrap his arms around the man’s waist between his body and the table, draping himself over Castiel’s back and peppering kisses over the expanse of his strong shoulder blades. “Tell me what you want, baby…”

“Condom… in the robe,” Castiel manages to force out. He’s still spread on the table and when Dean pulls back to fetch the desired item, he looks at the length of Castiel’s strong, tan arms spread eagle. 

Stepping out of his boxers Dean rolls the condom onto his cock, jerking it a few times, groaning low in the back of his throat. He drapes over Castiel’s back again and lifts a hand to the man’s mouth, two fingers forcing their way into Castiel’s parted lips. The other man sucks them in greedily, tongue as skilled on Dean’s fingers it had been on his cock and Dean ruts forward, sliding his cock between Castiel’s thighs, rubbing slow up under his balls. Castiel groans and grinds backwards but Dean stills him with his free hand, pulling his fingers free from Castiel’s mouth when drool starts to dribble down onto the shiny surface of the table. A finger slides into Castiel’s spit-slick hole easily, and then another joins soon after, and Dean has to marvel at how readily Castiel’s body opens up for him. He rotates his wrist, crooks his fingers, and Castiel pushes up off of the table onto his elbows, hanging his head.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me,” Castiel breathes out, a commanding edge lacing his voice.

Dean knows better than to think that he’s ever fully in control of the situation with Castiel. The other man holds all the cards and Dean is more than ready to fold. He pulls his fingers free and lines up his cock, straightening his body and looking down to watch the fat head of his cock press up against Castiel’s hole. Exhaling slowly, Dean starts to push forward into the tightness of Castiel’s body, feeling his control slipping millimeter by millimeter. Castiel is once again flat on the table, his arms now extended above him to reach the other side, fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the edge. When Dean bottoms out he takes a few deep breaths to try and center himself, before he grabs Castiel’s hips and holds him still so he can pull out. His head almost pops free from the rim before he slams back in, the legs of the table _scrrrch_ ing across the tile floor with the force of his thrust. Castiel cries out, the muscles in his glorious body tensing, and Dean watches, enraptured, as every powerful thrust into Castiel’s body makes the sinewy muscles flex and coil. 

The sound of skin slapping on skin fills the kitchen, punctuated by Castiel’s moans and pants, the man incredibly vocal with encouragements. Lots of “fuck yes”s and “harder Dean, _please_ ”s, with a few “fuck your cock feels so big, so huge, oh my God fuck me so good _Dean_!”s Dean has always known he’s a good roll in the sack but Castiel is nothing but a confidence booster, and Dean is more than happy to let the compliments finesse their way into each extremity, allowing him to fuck Castiel better, fuck him deeper, make his nails scrabble for purchase on the polished table and his knees buckle, Deans strong hands the only thing keeping him from collapsing onto the floor.

The table scoots so much in their fucking that the edge of it clunks against the wall, and as soon as it’s unable to move any further Dean ramps up the power of his movements, striking Castiel as deep as he can, finally able to grab his hips and adjust him to just the right angle. Castiel _screams_ when Dean slams into his prostate and he comes untouched, his entire body quaking with the force of his orgasm and Dean growls low, loving that he can undo Castiel like this. After a few thrusts Castiel props up on his elbow and reaches behind him to grab Dean’s forearm in a bruising grip, twisting slightly to look over his shoulder. 

“Sto… fuck, Dean, I need you to come on me,” Castiel pants, his voice without pitch and broken around the edges.

Dean’s jaw clenches and he pulls out of Castiel’s hole, the sudden lack of stimulation crackling in his veins. When he pulls away Castiel artfully slides off of the table, incredibly elegant despite the angles and contorting, and the man wastes no time settling on his knees and pulling the condom off of Dean’s cock. 

“ _Fuck_ -” Realization shocks Dean through his core as Castiel jerks his cock with sure, tight strokes, the tip of his tongue snaking out to tongue at the slit. Dean’s fingers tangle in Castiel’s hair and jerk his head back, exposing his face and his throat and Dean’s orgasm explodes through him, hot ropes of cum spurting over the angles of Castiel’s face, dripping down his chin and throat, fingers stroking Dean through the waves. He watches every bit of his seed streak over Castiel’s features and when he’s all done he collapses down to his knees, fingers still tangled in Castiel’s hair dragging him forward for a searing kiss. Unable to catch his breath and not giving a single fuck, Dean starts dragging his tongue over Castiel’s face, collecting his cum on his tongue. He swallows some but moves back to kiss Castiel again, shoving his stained tongue between Castiel’s lips, causing the other man to groan and lap up what he can from Dean. The cum passes between them for a few strokes before Castiel gets all he can and swallows, their foreheads thunking together, both their hands tangled in each other’s hair as they pant heavily.

After a few beats, Dean lets out an incredulous chuckle. “Jesus Christ, Cas. That was…” Amazing? The best sex he’s ever had? Life altering?

When their gazes focus on each other Dean is pleased to see Castiel looks about as fucked out as he feels, his eyes crinkled attractively at the corners and his gums showing with his smile. 

“You have an unending well of talent,” Castiel compliments. It’s such an odd thing to say, but he’s so honest about it, that Dean flushes with the compliment.

“Yeah, well,” Dean lets out a breath, still smiling. “Never really had a chance to tap into it.” His hands come from Castiel’s hair to cup his face, thumbs stroking high on his cheekbones. “Damn it, Cas, you are my wildest dreams come true.”

Castiel’s lips quirk in a smirk, “Are you entering your midlife crisis?”

“No better time to have a sexual awakening,” Dean laughs. He leans in to peck Castiel’s lips before he stands up, moving towards the sink to grab a washcloth and wet it with warm water. When he returns to Castiel the other man is standing and tying his robe around his waist again and doesn’t argue when Dean carefully cleans his cum off of the man’s skin. A quiet moment passes between them, and then when Dean speaks again, his voice is soft. “You are unreal.”

Castiel hums, taking the cloth from Dean’s hand so he can bend and clean up the mess he made on the underside of the table and the floor. He walks over the sink to rinse the washcloth, wringing it with his perfect fingers, speaking without turning to Dean, his voice amused. “So I’ve heard.”

Grabbing his boxers and putting them on, Dean shifts his weight idly from foot to foot. Now isn’t the time to get awkward, but he has no idea what to say. Castiel had made it clear that he wasn’t ready to kick Dean out, but then again, Dean is starting to feel like he might be overstaying his welcome. 

“Quit fidgeting,” Castiel says as he finally turns around, walking towards Dean. His command has Dean complying immediately. Once he’s within reach Castiel slides his fingers to the inside of Dean’s wrist, goosebumps raising up the flesh of Dean’s arm. This man can’t be human. “Let’s take a shower.”

Incredible, Dean thinks as he sends Castiel a hazy, but comfortable smile.

Whatever deity decided to put Castiel in the bar last night has a dutiful worshiper in Dean.

However, as Dean follows Castiel towards the bathroom, he starts to think that the deity might be Castiel himself.

This is amounting to be the best weekend of Dean’s fucking life, and he’s ready to drag it out for as long as Castiel lets him.

Praise be to Castiel.

**Author's Note:**

> comments and kudos are... well, you know the spiel  
> confess all your dirty secrets to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/deansdaisydukes)


End file.
